


Meeting you was the first day of the best of my life

by Reiloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 meetings, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Army Doctor John, Caring John, Detective Sherlock, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, Light Angst, M/M, POV John Watson, Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Loves John, Some Humor, Train Stations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiloves/pseuds/Reiloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time they met, Sherlock was working undercover- John still doesn’t know what the case had been about, but considering the strange turn of events his life had taken after that fateful meeting, he thinks he’s hardly to blame. </p><p>The second time they meet, it’s an accident- quite literally- and John almost kills him in the process. "</p><p>Train station AU (sorta) of the five times Sherlock and John meet :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting you was the first day of the best of my life

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Встреча с тобой была первым из лучших дней моей жизни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017350) by [hirasava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirasava/pseuds/hirasava)



The first time they met, Sherlock was working undercover- John still doesn’t know what the case had been about, but considering the strange turn of events his life had taken after that fateful meeting, he thinks he’s hardly to blame.

He’d been sitting by the window at the station café, leg jiggling nervously as he eyed the trains on the platform. This was it- his new life, so to speak, having just enlisted in the army (deployment following short after). He’s not entirely sure if the butterflies in his stomach are from anxiety or excitement. It hadn’t been a hard decision, really, he needed the money the army provided to complete medical school, and in all honesty, he had wanted an out for a long time now. He knows he wouldn’t regret this, no, because there was nothing left for him here- no one who would be waiting for him save for an alcoholic sister he’d almost given up on.

That’s when it happens- his meeting of the enigma that is Sherlock Holmes. He’s -rather pleasantly, even if he’d never admit it- snatched from his thoughts when a man, a complete stranger with a lush riot of curls and stunning cheekbones, smoothly slides into the seat opposite him.

“Um…” He trails off, feeling the words stick in his throat when he finds himself caught within the gaze of the most beautiful pair of eyes- indecisively flickering between silver, green, blue- and he can’t remember what he wanted to say to start with. And before he can get his mind working again, before he fully realizes what is happening, the man is leaning forward to close the gap between them, his voice a low baritone silkily gliding over his skin.

“I do hope you’ll be able to forgive me for this.” And suddenly, he’s being kissed and the only thought his mind could think to come up with was about how soft and warm his lips were, and how _right_ this man felt.

Above the loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears, he faintly registers the pattering of footsteps dashing past them. He doesn’t realize his eyes were shut, not till they open in surprise when the man breaks the kiss (and he hopes it was with as much reluctance as he’d felt), glances out the window, and sprints out the door. John doesn’t know what he was thinking. In fact, he doesn’t think he was thinking at all, but he did know that he couldn’t let him go like that, couldn’t let him disappear out of his life just as abruptly as he’d appeared, so he did the only thing he could- he followed.

He quickly finds him- hears him, more like- engaged in a fistfight with a group of tough, burly men. He’s holding his own pretty well, but John knows that he can’t see the one of them that is attempting to sneak up on him, switchblade glinting menacingly under the dim street light. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, John doubles his speed, tackling the unsuspecting man to the ground and quickly disarming him. He knocks him out as the man struggles beneath him, socking another man in the face as he jumps to his feet and throws himself into the messy fight. It ends soon after, the man being an excellent fighter despite his seemingly slim frame- _really, could he get any more_ _perfect_ \- and currently staring at him with the most baffled and yet intrigued expression John thinks he’s ever had anyone look at him with.

“I’m John.” He finally manages, grinning wildly when that earns him a deep chuckle from the man.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

They go back to the café after that, where John learns more about the brilliance that is Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, and Sherlock stays with him till it’s time for him to leave- and stays beyond that too, a lone figure on the platform watching after the departing train.

(Just as a lover would, Sherlock had jokingly claimed with a small smirk).

He thinks that might be when he fell in love.

~

The second time they meet, it’s an accident- quite literally- and John almost kills him in the process.

He was back in London, somehow managing to get leave in time for the Christmas period, and was trudging through the slow holiday traffic in the mini cooper he’s borrowed from his sister.

That’s when it happens- the second meeting of the insanity that is Sherlock Holmes.

Being the first car in line, he’d stepped on the accelerator when the lights turned green, his car shooting forward with the surge of power. The roads were all clear before him (he _knows_ he’d checked, because he’s always been a cautious driver) when suddenly, there’s a tall, _crazy_ man dashing out from the pedestrian walkway onto the road- and right into the path of his car. Everything happens so quickly, that all he can do is to swerve slightly, a string of startled curses falling from his lips as he ends up clipping the intruder at the hips.

He’s getting out of his car and running over to the injured male before he even notices he’s doing it.

“Christ. Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance- Sherlock?” He blinks in surprise when those familiar, _gorgeous_ eyes flick up to meet his gaze, the consulting detective looking just as pleasantly surprised to see him.

“John?”

“What were you thinking, you git! You could’ve died, Sherlock!”

“As good as it is to see you again, John, and as thankful as I am for your concern- touching really- I don’t have time for this right now, the suspect is getting away!” John lunges to pull the brunette to safety when the idiot darts forward- into the traffic _again_ \- even though he’s limping with a hand pressed against his hip.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere, not till I get you looked at.”

“But John, the suspect-”

“I don’t care!”

“John, _please_.” It’s the ‘please’ that causes him to hesitate, because somehow he just knows that it isn’t a common occurrence for Sherlock to use it. And John can’t even believe he’s considering it- though he blames it on the earnest plead in those puppy eyes the detective is flashing him, because how is he supposed to say no when he’s making that face, _really_ \- but he does, and apparently Sherlock can sense it’s a lost cause because he lights up like a Christmas tree and John just positively _hates_ himself sometimes.

“Alright, just. Who am I chasing?”

“…What?”

“You heard me, I’m not letting you go till I check you out. So. I’ll go, and you stay here.”

“Sherlock?” John questions hesitantly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when Sherlock just stares at him, unblinking.

“Hmm? Oh, the suspect. He’s that one trying to make a getaway right now.”

“What- Oh, bloody hell.” John swears huffily, taking off after the fleeing figure, having turned in time to glimpse a tall blur of red hair rapidly disappearing across the street. He tackles him to the ground (thank God for rugby training) just as several patrol cars come tearing down the street. He’s quickly relieved of his captive, sent back to talk to the silver haired inspector (who introduces himself as Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade), who is in the middle of a tirade against a sulkily pouting Sherlock and reckless behavior and _how many times do I have to tell you that you can’t go after criminals on your own?_

John almost laughs at sight, and then does laugh at the incredulity of it all, because he was back in London on his _break_ , for God’s sake, which was meant to be spent catching up with old friends and relaxing- not chasing after criminals and trying to coax a infuriatingly stubborn genius detective to stay still long enough so that he could have a look at that hip.

And God help him, it’s the most fun he’s had in a long while and he _loves_ it all.

John spends the night with Sherlock, catering to his every whim as he grumps because John ordered him to couch-rest for his hip. He’s there with Sherlock for Christmas as well, and most of the rest of his break. Sherlock sends him off at the train station again, when his break comes to an end, but this time it’s with a trade of contact details and promises to keep in touch.

(John guffaws in amusement, drawing curious stares from the other passengers when he spots Sherlock, once again a lone figure on the platform, waving a hanky after him in an enactment of a tearful goodbye- _just as a lover would)_.

And in hindsight, of course it would be Sherlock, because who else would be so utterly i _diotic_ as to run into oncoming traffic, _twice_?

John thinks that was when he knew that it would be the start of something beautiful.

~

The next time they meet, he nearly gets a heart attack.

John casts yet another glance at his watch, foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the floor. He’s been waiting for Sherlock for the past hour now, his train due to leave in five and he’s starting to have niggling little doubts that he’s not coming after all- that he’s _forgotten_. He’s already contemplated boarding the train several times, but he talks himself into waiting just a little longer each time, reassuring himself that the detective would show because he promised.

Because boarding the train would mean giving up, and giving up meant admitting that he wasn’t coming- and frankly, that thought hurt so damn much, because John hoped that this meant as much to Sherlock as it did to him.

And so he waits.

But when the shrill of the whistle pierces the air, calling all passengers onboard and there was still no sign of the detective, he can’t help but betrayed and hurt and then angry for letting himself be so affected by something so small. Except _it wasn’t_.

 _Stop it,_ he chastises himself, _maybe he’s busy with another case, you didn’t really think he was your lover, did you?_

He tries not to think that maybe Sherlock has finally gotten bored of this- their little arrangement- or even worse yet, of him. Sweeping the crowds one last time in hopes for a glimpse of the familiar head of unruly curls, he sighs, heart heavy with disappointment as he turns to board the train. He’s barely taken a step forward when he hears it-

“John!” His head whips around towards that velvet voice, heart bursting with happiness when he spots the younger male running towards him - so much, he vaguely thinks it must mean something, though he can’t quite comprehend it at the moment- that all he can do is fling his arms around him in embrace, basking in the soothing warmth and comfort of the taller male.

“I’m glad… you haven’t left.” John huffs, a throaty chuckle escaping his lips as his arms tighten around Sherlock.

_Me too… me too._

He’s so overwhelmed that he almost doesn’t hear the whisper of his name.

“ _…John…”_ The doctor hums questioningly, frowning when all he hears is strained breaths against his ear. His frown deepens when he finally registers the shivers running through the wiry frame in his arms.

“…Sherlock?” He’s about to pull away, to look at him because he knows, just feels that something is wrong.

“…I’m sorry…” John yelps in shock as Sherlock slumps against him, a sudden dead weight in his arms.

“Sherlock!” He jerks back, calling to Sherlock frantically as he gently lays him down, eyes roaming over the pale body for injuries. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice- he was a _doctor_ for Christ’s sake- the warm, sticky, crimson fluid coating his hands, and he almost rips the well-fitted, blood soaked shirt off in his agitation, eyes alighting on the seeping stab wound.

“Come on, Sher, come on.” He mutters, reaching up to unwind his scarf and pressing it hard against the wound to stem the blood flow.

“You’re not allowed to die on me, do you hear me? You are not allowed to die.”

The ambulance arrives soon after that, paramedics swarming around them as they secure Sherlock to a stretcher, whisking both him and John away in a whir of flashing red and blue lights. John can’t do anything but helplessly clutch the detective’s hand- he _hates_ every second of it, the burning need to do _something_ coursing through his veins.

They make it to the hospital in record time, and Sherlock is taken from him, much to his protests. And when his eyes land on the bloodied scarf in his hands- _Sherlock_ ’s blood- the gravity of the situation slams into him. He’s so absolutely terrified it almost sends him to his knees.

_I can’t lose him… God, I can’t lose him._

He’s never been so afraid of death in his life.

Sherlock survives, somehow managing to look both affronted and pleased with a touch of surprise thrown in when John yells at him for not seeking medical help (what was he thinking, really), though he deflates and returns the gesture when Sherlock weakly squeezes his hand.

_“I couldn’t just let you leave.”_

His leave gets extended- family emergency, he’d claimed, but he thinks that Mycroft must have had some part in it considering how easily his request had been approved- and he’s alright with that, of _course_ he is; would have fought tooth and nail to stay, because _Sherlock_ is more important.

He stays at the hospital till Sherlock is released, and then past that, going back with him to Baker Street and taking care of him there. And when Sherlock is mostly recovered, a couple of weeks later- enough to be able to survive on his own, at least, and so signaling the end of John’s leave- he accompanies him to the train station once again.

Something has changed between them, though John can’t pinpoint what exactly it is, but this time there’s no jokes, just mutual glances and fond smiles. There’s just John reaching up to run his fingers through those silky tresses, sliding down to briefly cup Sherlock’s cheek, and Sherlock leaning over to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

And when John presses his palm to the window as they pull away from the station, Sherlock raises a hand in reply, a small, wistful smile on his lips.

John wonders when it’d all begun to change into something much, much deeper. 

~

The next and very last time they meet like this- their planned station meetings- John thinks that nothing will be the same again; that they can never be the same again, because how can they, when he’s so so different to the John Watson that Sherlock has always known and -dare he say it- _admired._ Because that John Watson was whole and brave and strong and he… he’s _broken_ , a mere ghost of the man he used to be, and he’s got nothing left.

Nothing but _Sherlock_ , and- _oh God, what if Sherlock never wants to see him again?_

He’s not sure what he’d expected, but he knows that whatever he could have thought of, it wouldn’t have been this- the tight, desperate embrace he suddenly finds himself in. He tenses in surprise, arms tentatively coming up after a few pauses when Sherlock burrows closer with a shuddering exhale.

“Sherlock?” He softly calls into the head of inky curls tickling his neck, uncertainty lacing his voice at this uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He murmurs, concern flaring as his hands smooth gently across his back when Sherlock shakes his head and _whimpers._

“You’re alive…” John frowns at the breathy whisper, staying silent as he tries to work out the situation at hand, though his hands are still trailing in repetitive circles in hopes of calming Sherlock’s obvious distress.

“I-I thought… Mycroft said you were shot, and I didn’t know where you were or what was happening, and I couldn’t reach you, and I…” He tightens his hold around the younger male, guilt tearing at his heart because Sherlock was _terrified_ , and it was all because of _him_.

“You thought I was dead.”

_Oh Sherlock…_

“I’m sorry, ‘lock. I’m so sorry… I’m fine. It’s fine, it’s all fine.”

He’s not sure how long they remain in that position, arms secured around each other in mutual support and comfort, but then Sherlock is pulling away slightly and looking at him, and he’s reaching up just as Sherlock tilts his head down, and suddenly, suddenly their lips are meeting and they are kissing.

It’s _perfect_ \- just the way he knew it would be.

And before he even realizes it, Sherlock’s tugging insistently at him, hand clasped around his as he physically drags him along.

_“Let’s go home, John.”_

He’s right- everything has changed. Just maybe not in the way he thought it would.

_Home._

He hadn’t even realized that it was something he had been looking for.

And he thinks, staring at the way Sherlock’s fingers are interwoven with his, that maybe, just maybe this thing, right here, right now… _this_.

_This could be the rest of his life._

~

The next time they meet, is the rest of their lives.

They stop becoming known as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, Consulting Detective and Army Captain, and instead become Sherlock Holmes _and_ John Watson, Consulting Detective and his blogger, then into Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes, husbands and then finally, finally just as _SherlockandJohn,_ a single entity that cannot be separated from the other. 

~

_"Meeting you was fate,_

_Becoming your friend was a choice,_

_But falling in love with you_

_Was out of my control"_

_\- Anonymous_

**Author's Note:**

> I had this half finished from a while back, so finally just got around to actually finishing it!  
> It hasn't been brit-picked or beta-d (because i don't actually have a beta), though I've gone over it a couple of times briefly, and Sherlock may be a little OOC, but well.
> 
> And i apologize for the long title, but i couldn't think of anything else >


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